Assistant Manager Mark Steele opened the café curtains all along the east wall of windows at Monty’s Diner and noticed the sky was starting to get light.
“Mark, it’s almost six,” Rosie Harris said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Okay, Leo. Fire up the grill!” Mark went to the front window and turned on the Open sign, then unlocked the door. He bent down and picked up a bundle of newspapers, and had just brought them inside when Mort Clary walked in.
“Mornin’ all,” Mort said, hanging his hat and sweater on the hook. “Got my caffeine?”
“On the counter,” Rosie said.
Mort grabbed a newspaper from Mark’s hand and put a quarter in the jar by the register. He walked to the counter, his eyes fixed on the front page, and sat on a stool. “Too bad about this lawyer lady.”
“Sure is,” Rosie said. “People are nuts these days.”
“Who’s nuts?” George Gentry came in and sat at the counter, his wife Hattie next to him.
“The fella that done that freeway shootin’,” Mort said.
“Wasn’t that awful?” Hattie shook her head. “Sheila Paxton seemed like such a nice woman.”
“Nice?” Reggie Mason walked to the counter, a grin stretching his cheeks, a newspaper under his arm. “That’s not what I hear.”
“Spare me,” Rosie said.
Mort winked at Reggie. “There’s all kinda rumors runnin’ amuck.”
“What rumors?” Liv Spooner came in and took her seat at the counter. “Did I miss something?”
“Just Mort and Reg running their mouths,” George said. “Nothing worth repeating.”
Mort snickered. “Don’t be so all-fired sure, Georgie. I hear Miss Sheila What’s-her-name put in a little overtime with the mayor, if ya get my drift.”
George glared at Mort over the top of his glasses. “You’re skating on thin ice.”
“Charlie Kirby’s a saint,” Rosie said. “No one’s going to believe that for a minute.”
“Ain’t what Avery Stedman thinks.”
“Oh, did he finally learn to think?” George said.
“Just ’cause ya don’t agree with his politics ain’t no reason ta put him down.”
George rolled his eyes. “But it’s okay to cast aspersions on Mayor Kirby’s character?”
“Wait a minute,” Rosie said. “Go back to Sheila Paxton. Just because she’s a knockout means she’s not nice? Where do you guys get off with that kind of talk?”
“Settle down,” Reggie said. “That’s not it.”
“Then suppose you tell me what it is.”
“Ask Mort. He’s the one who talked to Avery.”
Rosie flicked Mort on the head. “You’re a troublemaker, mister. Sheila Paxton was a class act—a beautiful, successful attorney. Why can’t you leave it at that?”
“Never said she weren’t all them things. Mayor Kirby musta thought so.” Mort laughed his wheezy laugh.
Hattie got up and walked toward the ladies’ room. “I’m not listening to any more of this.”
“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” George said.
“Well, Georgie, before you start givin’ me what for, maybe ya oughta check out the facts.”
“What facts?”
“Avery said Tim Adler’s boy seen her and the mayor smoochin’ up a storm in the parkin’ lot behind the city offices buildin’.”
“Oh, well, then it must be gospel,” Rosie said. “Isn’t he the one who got suspended from school for vandalizing the gym?”
“Don’t mean he’s blind.” Mort held up his cup for a refill. “Why would the boy make it up?”
“For attention,” Rosie said. “Same as lots of other kids. If Mayor Kirby were going to cheat on Marlene, which I don’t believe for a minute, he’d be more discreet than that.”
Mort blew on his coffee, then took a sip. “Don’t matter ta me one way or t’other. But folks are sure startin’ ta wonder.”
Charlie Kirby yawned, his eyelids heavy after his early morning flight to Raleigh. He drove his rental car down Sunderlin Boulevard, then turned into Sacred Heart Cemetery and followed the funeral procession, amazed at how few cars there were. The memorial service had been held at the funeral home, where he counted only twenty people in attendance. He hadn’t been able to see how many were seated behind the privacy curtain, but figured there would be a respectable family showing at the gravesite.
He dreaded seeing Richard, and wondered if the man had any idea that Sheila was not only willing but eager to cheat on him. Charlie felt a pang of guilt and dismissed it. No point in beating himself for something that never happened.
But he still hadn’t faced Marlene about Avery Stedman’s accusation. After they got the kids to bed on Saturday night, Marlene started on her Sunday school lesson and didn’t finish until after midnight. On Sunday after church they got busy with the kids, and by Sunday night, he had talked himself into waiting until after the funeral.
Charlie slowed and brought the car to a stop behind the others. He spotted TV cameras, and just beyond them, a green canopy covering a fresh grave. He got out and noticed a familiar white Lexus had pulled in behind him.
Charlie walked to the driver’s side and waited until Guy Jones rolled down the window. “I was surprised to see you two at the funeral.”
“It was a last-minute decision,” Guy said.
Charlie bent down and looked in the window. “Hello, Madam Editor. Are you speaking to me?”
“Oh, come on, Charlie,” Ellen Jones said. “When have you known me to hold a grudge?”
He smiled. “Good.”
“I’m planning to write a feature story on Sheila. The networks are obsessing over Gerald Landis as if he were the only victim. People in Baxter want to hear about Sheila Paxton. Maybe her family and friends would like a chance to let their voices be heard.”
“She has a boyfriend named Richard,” Charlie said. “Maybe he’d like to talk to you.”
Ellen looked out the window. “It’s so strange. After a tragic death, I was expecting a lot more people than this.”
“Come on,” Guy said. “Looks like they’re about ready to start.”
Charlie walked with Ellen and Guy to the gravesite and saw a polished wood casket covered with a huge spray of fall flowers. He recognized several executives from Thompson Tire. His eyes moved from person to person and stopped on a tall, lean man about Sheila’s age whose, nose was red and whose eyes looked empty and desolate. Richard. Charlie felt a surge of guilt and quickly willed it away.
“If you’ll be seated,” the minister said, “we can begin.”
Richard put on a pair of sunglasses once TV cameras were visible around the periphery.
Charlie studied him. Richard who? Charlie didn’t even know his last name. The guy was decent looking. Thick hair. Italian suit. Rolex. He tried to picture Sheila at home with him, but found it too uncomfortable.
“Only You, O God, can make sense of such tragedy. We grieve for the tragic loss of this young woman …”
Charlie tried to think of something else … the elders meeting Tuesday night … his daughter’s dance recital Thursday night … golf with Dennis Lawton Friday afternoon … the Falcons game on Sunday … propane for the grill … filters for the furnace …
Charlie was suddenly aware again of the minister talking. He glanced at his watch, surprised that five minutes had gone by.
“And so we entrust the soul of Sheila Anne Paxton to You, O Lord, and pray the words of Your beloved Son, who died so that those who believe in Him might live: Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name …”
Charlie recited the words to the Lord’s Prayer, but they seemed empty. Afterward, Richard stood up, walked to Sheila’s casket, and laid a red tulip on it. He lingered a few moments, and then returned to his seat. One by one, people got up and filed by the casket and placed a tulip on it. When Charlie’s turn came, all he could think about was getting it over with.
The service ended with everyone singing “Amazing Grace.”
Charlie turned to Guy and Ellen. “I should say something to Richard. Excuse me.”
He walked over to where Richard was standing and waited until a small group of comforters thinned out. Two men stood near Richard and watched Charlie intently as he stepped forward and extended his hand. “Richard, I’m Charlie Kirby, the mayor of Baxter. I had the pleasure of working with Sheila on the Thompson relocation. I’m very sorry for your loss. We were all shocked and grieved to hear the news.”
Richard removed his dark glasses and wiped his red-rimmed eyes. “Sheila mentioned you. Said she enjoyed working with you. Aren’t you the one with seven kids?”
“That’s me.” Charlie forced a smile.
One of the men tapped Richard on the shoulder, then whispered something in his ear. Richard’s face dropped. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to leave. Thank you so much for coming, and for introducing yourself.”
Richard turned and walked hurriedly between the two men toward two police officers leaning on a squad car. Richard and the two men got in a black sedan, then followed the squad car out of the cemetery.
“I wonder what that’s all about,” Charlie mumbled.
“Someone broke into his house.”
Ellen’s voice startled him and he turned around.
“How do you know that?”
“You want my source?” Ellen’s eyes were playful, and then serious. “I overheard the officers talking about it.”
Charlie shook his head. “Poor guy just can’t get a break.”
Ellen’s eyebrows formed an arch. “Seems a little too coincidental, if you ask me.”